


Midsummer Festival

by Stranger



Series: Shire Reckoning 1412 [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Intoxication, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-05 17:21:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16371866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stranger/pseuds/Stranger
Summary: Takes place on last day of Lithe and first day of July 1412 (Shire Reckoning).  Midsummer is very much a fertility festival.  Frodo finds more than one partner.





	Midsummer Festival

**Author's Note:**

> Tolkien's Shire calendar provides some out-of-month days instead of adding odd days to some months. Lithe is a midsummer festival held in the days between June and July.
> 
> Story written in 2002.

It was Hawthorne Boffin, or possibly Crystal Chubb, or perhaps it was the Proudfoot ale, which was uncommonly strong even for Lithe Festival, that was making Frodo dizzy. Whatever it was, he _was_ dizzy and unable to stop turning round and round and round the Party Tree where most of the tweens in Hobbiton (and many of their elders) were dancing to fiddles and spoons and the light of the midsummer moon, the very same one a cow jumped over in Bilbo's song.

It was Hawthorne, definitely. Here she was again, dancing with him round and round the tree, her brown eyes sparkling in the firelight, her copper-brown curls bouncing to the music and her fine round bosom bouncing ever so lightly in her dress as she danced him round and round the tree with a quick-footed gait, and then two trees further into the wood. There she pulled him down behind a wide, sheltering tree-trunk and into her lap for the kind of fun a lass and lad could have on Lithe-nights even if they weren't always quite so friendly as all that. Hawthorne was usually a bit standoffish, Frodo seemed to recall through the haze of ale and lust dancing in his head. She was nearly of age, not much the giddy tween any longer, but on Lithe nights it didn't matter. 

He was warm from the dance even before she dragged him into her warm lap, and under her warm skirt, right into her warm, wet little nest of maiden-curls, where Frodo proceeded to farm the field for as long as he could remember how, deliciously long in the haze of moonlight and ale. Hawthorne giggled before and after, but during the best of it she moaned softly, urging him "harder" and "slower" and "yes, yes, faster now," and then she moaned and shuddered around him and said, "ohhh, don't stop, this is the best part," while his head danced along with his loins and there was absolutely no question of stopping or even slowing down until he, too, groaned and shuddered deep inside her warmth and finally he could lie still. He held Hawthorne in his arms, giggling softly with her in the moonlight haze, quite in agreement that Lithe dancing was a wonderful thing. 

Eventually they untangled themselves and he gave her a happy, hazy kiss and she whispered that Lithe was her favorite time of year and always had been, but after a few more kisses she wanted another mug of ale, so they stood up and buttoned the buttons that had been undone during the dancing. 

Frodo had another mug of ale as well, and after that he lost Hawthorne's copper-brown curls and pretty bosom somewhere among the crowd. He went back to the Party Tree because he hadn't finished dancing and the moon was still up, somewhere over the trees, and the haze was still in his head. 

That was where Sam found him, a dance or two (or three) later. The music now was a drum and a hand-harp at the other side of the Party Field, and someone was singing. Sam caught him and he caught Sam and danced him once around in a little circle of just the two of them. 

"Mr. Frodo, are you all right?"

"Oh, Sam, I can't find him any more!"

"Who, Mr. Frodo? I'll help you look."

"The moon. He's gone. I need another one."

Sam's face creased up and then smoothed out. "I'd say you'd drunk all the moons you need tonight already," he said, his face only a breath away from Frodo's. 

"Oh, no, I need one more." Frodo set his hands on either side of Sam's round face and kissed him a heartfelt Festival kiss. It felt so nice that he did it again. Sam was warm and round in his arms and had one strong hand on his shoulder holding him up while they kissed the second time. There was a slow dance of warm, wet tongues, easier to feel in the haze than soft lips.

Sam pulled back -- not away -- long enough to shift their positions. "You need to get yourself home and lie down."

Half of that was right. "Lie down with me. Please, Sam. You taste so good."

"You can't taste anything but Proudfoot's ale, if you don't mind my saying so, Mr. Frodo."

"It's Proudfeet ale," said Frodo. "Old Odo insists on it. I just tasted you and I like that better."

Sam's arm tightened around him. "You taste... like sunshine. But you're not yourself."

"'M not supposed to be. It's Festival. D'you think the likes of Crystal would have me any other time?" There'd been an early dance with Hobbiton's golden tween beauty who hadn't been her usual self in giving pale, skinny Frodo an armful of Festival celebration.

Frodo could feel Sam's smile against his mouth. "She's full of herself and no mistake, but she has a good eye if she singled you out."

Frodo couldn't recall seeing Sam since before Crystal. "I'll bet you've been busy too."

"I'm a gardener," said Sam, almost primly, but a smile lurked in his voice.

"You're a beautiful, beautiful hobbit. I love you, Sam." Frodo felt as if the moon had come back and was shining into the back of his head, unseen by anyone else. He kissed Sam again, tasting earth and seeds and care. He tightened his arms around Sam and leaned backward, and that did it; they were lying down right behind the Party Tree, Sam mostly on top of him, warm and heavy and holding him down to the earth and kissing him at last in a way that meant yes.

They rolled a little without losing the embrace and came to rest with Frodo tucked at Sam's side, pressed against him so he could feel a happy knot of warmth through both their trousers. He put his face into Sam's neck and breathed in sweat and a hint of ale and one or two flower petals that went up his nose and made him sneeze, so he sneezed and sniffled into Sam's neck.

Sam held him close and combed gentle fingers over the back of his head. "Frodo, Mr. Frodo, I love you as much as sunshine. I can't help it."

"I can't help it either," said Frodo. "I want you to love me. I want to love you. I want--"

Sam's mouth met his, asking without words for everything Frodo wanted to give. Strong hands slipped down his back and pulled him in closer until they rocked together. Frodo pushed his legs up and around Sam, tight against him, feeling slow fire beneath his belly that was too lazy to flare up again tonight, but never went out. After a long time of slow rocking on the night-smelling grass, warm and lazy and almost comfortable, Sam chuckled ruefully against his ear. "You, too? Lasses wear you out, don't they?"

"They do," said Frodo, sighing. The haze of ale and Festival moonlight was thinning, and what remained was Sam, warm and solid in his arms. "It doesn't matter, Sam. I like the way you feel right now. I like knowing you'll be at Bag End tomorrow and the next day. Kiss me again while it's still Festival."

"I wish tomorrow was still Festival." 

Frodo was still hazed enough to say, "I do too," because it was true, he did wish it; and then he let his mouth and Sam's make love for a long time, and after that he went to sleep in Sam's arms.

# # # 

Frodo woke in his own bed, late in the morning. He wished Sam were here, but Sam would be overseeing the clean-up of Party Field and if everyone's head felt like Frodo's, it would take a good while.

Sam must have brought him home, after that last dance. It hadn't truly been a Lithe dance. It had been Sam and Frodo, each loving the other and not just loving the Shire and the land, and they two weren't the right two people to settle together, whether they were loyal friends or happy with each other or not. Two bachelors together... well, it happened, though usually they were someone's uncles in a family smial. It was never a house-owner and a servant.

Lithe was over. It was July. 

Frodo got up and made tea for his breakfast, and had a bit of bread. It was second breakfast-time or past it, closer to lunch. Sam and Hamfast Gamgee and Tom Cotton and young Tom and anyone else helping them would be glad of bread and cheese and some small ale cool from the cellar, if they'd been working since the sun said morning. 

He made up a tray and filled the big pitcher and took it with cups out into the summer warmth of the sun-drenched field where there were voices. Hamfast's face changed from tired to a grin -- wider than Sam's smile, but like it -- at the sight of the tray and pitcher. "That's right thoughtful of you, sir. It's a warm morning." He swung back to face the field. "Time for a sit-down," he bawled at the five hobbits scattered over it, who put down rakes and baskets and trooped over to the shade (where Hamfast was already standing) under the Party Tree. 

Frodo had brought exactly six cups, and gave the last one gladly to Rose, who with Marigold had been sorting through the raked-up debris of last night's feast. Most of it was only good for garden mulch, Frodo estimated, and realized that was exactly why the Cottons and the Gamgees wanted it. Party Field was Bag End land -- although Frodo still thought of the Field as Bilbo's rather than his own, somehow -- but Festival leavings always went to the clean-up crew. 

Everyone sat on the much-trampled grass around Party Tree. Sam took charge of the pitcher and poured small ale for everyone, offering his cup to Frodo and hesitating when Frodo shook his head. "You shouldn't go dry, Mr. Frodo."

"I've just had breakfast while you were working. You need it."

Hamfast said, "You were up late putting things to rights at Bag End, Sam. Mr. Frodo is right." He gave Frodo a sharp glance as he picked up a slab of cheese from the tray. 

Levelheaded Sam must have stayed awake to take care of him, and that just showed what was difficult about making their arrangement closer than it was. It wasn't fair to Sam. What folk would say if they had reason to think Sam was being taken advantage of, didn't really bear thinking on. What did Hamfast think of Frodo already? 

Others might think Sam was taking the advantage, instead, and either way folk would see advantages instead of friendship and calculation instead of love, and too many of the hobbits in Hobbiton would turn away from both of them. 

Frodo nibbled one of the rounds of bread, Bilbo's recipe that Sam made as well as he did, and nearly as often, in the familiar tile-floored kitchen. "There's no need to hurry about finishing the field, surely, if you have all day? I'd like to speak to Sam about something in the house for a bit before you go back to work."

Hamfast's glance at him this time was twice as sharp, but Sam looked up with an open smile. "Of course, Mr. Frodo."

Sam walked with Frodo around hedges and through the side-garden with its herbs and low flowers and around to the front entrance. Frodo led him to the kitchen, and when he saw Sam eyeing the unwashed tea things he took care to sit at the other hand of the table to make Sam look away from the dishes.  
"Sam, last night we said things."

Sam blurted, quickly, "It was true, Frodo, sir, wasn't it?"

"Yes, Sam, it was true." He owed Sam that, and more. "I love you and I wish I could make love to you. It's not right, but I wish it were. Can you work here and stay my friend? I hope you can. It's you I love, not just the... dancing. I can dance with anyone who'll have me."

"I feel just what I said. I do. I thought it was right, the way we said it then, but..." Sam's eyebrows frowned in his young face, "it's not the same in the daylight." 

"No," said Frodo heavily. 

"I wish I could feel it the same."

"We both wish that, Sam."

Sam looked at him with his warm brown eyes, and down the table to the uncleared breakfast tea, and back at Frodo. "O' course I'll stay. Where would I go to?" He got up and put the cup and the plate into the sink, checked that the teapot was empty and set it beside them, and finished by pushing the honey pot into its place at the far end of the table, beside Frodo. "Mr. Frodo, I should go back to the field with the others, but I'll see you in the morning, if that's what you'd like."

"That would be fine, Sam. It's good to know you'll be here."

"It's good to know..." Sam looked at Frodo. 

Frodo wasn't sure it felt good to know as much as he did, but now he knew it and so did Sam. He waited, unwilling to send the warm eyes and friendly presence away or to dampen Sam's spirits with his own doubts. 

"... you," said Sam, finally.

Frodo blinked, not quite in surprise. That was Sam: going directly to the heart of things. He smiled. "I'll be here tomorrow." 

Sam went out, and Frodo sat there and thought about waking up to Sam's voice humming a tune somewhere nearby, about seeing Sam in the garden at all hours because they both loved the garden. He thought about kissing Sam in the moonlight, but that was just Festival play and tween games and he was too old to think it was all of life. 

He got up and looked out the window, seeing sunlight and flowers and a garden that would need tending at all seasons.

# # # # # # # 


End file.
